Oh Dear! OH DEAR!!!!!! Oh Deer...

If you happen to see one of these:

You should probably pay attention to it.

Every year on the first weekend of April, the Beynon family makes an annual pilgrimage to the north to watch The Northland Chorus perform their annual show.  This year was their 45th show. For those who know me, an interest in 4 part harmony music will strike you as odd, I know.  I met the director of the chorus, Bob Shami, years ago when I sold his brewery beer cartons.  He is one of the most decent people I know and has a stellar voice, to boot.  The first Barber Shop show I attended was, admittedly, more out of supplier/client relationship building than actual interest, but I genuinely enjoyed that first show and have attended each year since (except maybe one...).

This year we decided to head up early and were making good time when we were unexpectedly introduced to some of the local wildlife.  

Out of the ditch it bounded with what one can only imagine was the embodiment of natural grace.  I don't know.  I only saw it looking straight at me for that millisecond before impact.

One second my mind is registering brown eyes and tawny fur and the next a thud, crumpling metal and the hiss of radiator steam.

Here's a little rule of the road:  

If it is smaller than a moose - don't swerve.  Swerving gets you killed.

When I was a teenager, just learning to drive, I swerved to avoid a raccoon.  My dad gave me eleven different kinds of shit for that.  "If it's a moose - or a person - or if you have miles of time to react - then you swerve.  If you swerve for a raccoon and lose control of the car - you're dead - and for what?  Vermin!"

He really was a nature lover, my dad, but the point was made.  I didn't swerve and managed to get my family safely to the side of the road.  

I made sure no one in the car was hurt.  Following the initial impact the deer flew right over the top of the car - we were very lucky.  After assessing the damage on the highway - there was plenty - I managed to drive the car to the next off ramp before the fluid in the radiator disappeared and the car told me enough was enough.

We met a nice policeman, some really unsavoury tow-truck drivers and became infinitely familiar with our insurance company. 

Never actually met the deer, but he did leave us something to remember him by.  Those are bits of him.

The rest was hotel rooms, towing arrangements, late night taxi rides and a car rental.  Through it all the kids were really troopers.  I think they've even forgiven daddy for killing Bambi.

Oh yes, he was dead.  I never saw the actual corpse on Thursday night - I was too preoccupied with getting my family off the highway and its heavy truck traffic - but yesterday on the ride home we spotted him.  A large white-tailed deer and from the position he was in, I can almost guarantee he literally never knew what hit him.

What could top off a weekend like that, you might ask?

Well, after driving in spring-like conditions all day yesterday, here's what I woke up to this fine April morning.  

I pity da fool...

Well, here it is again.  

Every year we take one day (hopefully just the one day) to play pranks and have a little harmless fun at someone else's expense.  Unfortunately my kids don't really get into the April 1st spirit so I miss out on the cling wrap over the toilet bowl, the greased door knobs and the congealed bacon fat in the shoes.  

What's that?  

You've never experienced the ol' bacon-fat-in-the-shoe bit?  

Just wait, there's always next year.

Another Useless Rejection Slip...

While it is true that most of us don't know what we'll be doing tomorrow, or next week or next month, I at least know what I WON'T be doing in September.

I received a letter in the mail today from the University of Guelph letting me know that I WON'T be joining them in the MFA program in the upcoming fall semester.  

Was I crestfallen (one of my favourite words, by the way)?  

Well...yes...and no.  

I was looking forward to the interaction with other writers and working with folks who have successfully manoeuvred through the quagmire of Canadian publishing.  I was looking forward to honing my skills and receiving real weekly feedback.  I was looking forward to meeting a diverse group of writers from whom I could learn a little something and maybe teach a little in return.   

I was NOT looking forward to changing my writing to fit the mold of a narrow Canadian literary definition of what's fit to publish.  

Maybe I'm being unfair...maybe not.

One thing that has me wondering if I'm being unfair is the nature of the letter I got from the program director.  

It's a generic form rejection letter. 

It reads just like any generic form rejection letter you'd get from the Fiddlehead or Prism or any other Literary magazine that doesn't supply feedback.  Do I expect a painstaking point form outline of my submission package showing me what they didn't like?  It would be nice, but no, I don't expect that.  What I do expect, after a committee has apparently gone through my writing to give serious consideration to my application, is at the very least a personalized letter informing me that perhaps my writing lacked the maturity or technical finesse of the other applicants.  That maybe, perhaps, my style of writing did not display a variety of themes one would expect of a MFA program applicant.  Or maybe that my choice of subject matter didn't fit with their notion of fine Canadian literature.  Or that my BA grades were not up to par.  Or that my writing bites.

Any of that would really have been preferable to the generic form I received today.  I have a big problem with generic forms.  If you stop reading my writing after the first paragraph, for crying out loud take ten seconds to scribble that on the rejection form before you put it in the envelope.  At least that brief note will tell me that I need to work on the goddamn opening.

Anyway - end of rant.

Now...what will I be doing in September?

I'll keep you posted.